‘How much space can a horse consider to be personally his?’
‘As far as I can ascertain, sir, an area covering most of Rushfordshire. There’s also a small sprinkling of alcohol-related injuries, sir, including Mr Keller falling over as he tried to take off his boots. No concussion.’
He muttered something about Edward II sustaining fewer casualties at Bannockburn. And he’d lost. ‘And damage to the building?’
‘Relatively minor, sir. Mostly, but not necessarily confined to, the occasional broken window.’
‘And?’
‘One or two items of furniture may have incurred minor damage during the action replays in the bar last night.’
‘So yesterday went well then?’
‘Indeed, sir. No one hospitalised, the building still standing, two charming new friends made, and the Time Police deceived.’
‘And the final score?’
‘The final result of the croquet match remains contested, sir, otherwise, St Mary’s – one. Time Police – nil.’
‘Have we learned anything from yesterday?’
‘Well, I think Mr Evans has learned not to stand behind Miss Sykes when she has a croquet club in her hand. And Miss Lingoss’s performance may have caused one or two people to revise their stereotypical opinion of the female inability to bowl overarm.’
‘I am almost certain yesterday’s game was croquet not cricket, Dr Maxwell.’
‘A temporary confusion on Miss Lingoss’s part, sir. Soon resolved and apparently no hard feelings afterwards.’
He sat quietly for a while, tapping his pen on his desk. I waited for what I knew was coming.
‘They were delightful young people, weren’t they?’
‘They were sir. And, thanks to St Mary’s, considerably less radioactive than they were this time yesterday.’
He leaned forward. ‘Do you think Adrian knows Mikey is a girl?’
I grinned at him. ‘I’d be surprised if Mikey knows Mikey is a girl, sir.’
One evening, about a week later, Peterson knocked on our door.
Usually, on Friday afternoons, while the Technical and Security Sections battered the hell out of each other in the name of football, I would go to his office with all my paperwork for him to sign. He would drop it all on the floor, yank open his bottom drawer and pull out a bottle of wine. I would put my feet up on his desk and we’d have a glass or two and a good old moan about the week. Sometimes, he would call by my rooms in the evening to help Matthew with his jigsaw, or even just to chat. I think he was lonely.
Anyway, this was obviously one of those evenings and I was pleased to see him. ‘Come in.’
‘What ho, Matthew.’ He held up a bottle of wine. ‘Have you got a minute, Max?’
‘Of course I have. You’re just the person I need.’
He looked uneasy. ‘Why am I just the person you need?’
‘Grab a seat. I need your advice.’
‘On what?’
‘You’re a man, aren’t you?’
‘So it says on my documents,’ he said.
‘I wondered if you would have a word with the young master here about peeing in the shower.’
‘For or against?’
‘I can’t believe you have to ask that, although given the number of things you’ve peed on over the years…’
‘You never let that go, do you?’
‘Unlike you who lets go all the time.’
‘To the best of my knowledge I have never peed in your shower.’
‘It would be nice if you could claim never to have peed in anyone’s shower.’
He looked uneasy. ‘How truthful do you want me to be?’
I got up to go and turn down Matthew’s bed. ‘I’ll be back in a moment. I shall leave the pair of you to discuss improved flow control.’
‘I really wouldn’t bother Max. We’re men. If there’s running water and a drain, we just can’t help ourselves. It’s in our genes.’
‘You are never setting foot in my bathroom again.’
‘I’ve never set foot in your bathroom anyway.’
I returned to find Matthew grinning at Uncle Peterson and picking up tips on how to defy his mother.
I told him to go and get ready for bed.
‘No’, he said, obviously keen to put his newly acquired skills to good use.
‘Now,’ I said.
‘Can’t make me,’ he said, well aware that corporal punishment was off the table.
‘Want to bet?’ I said
He folded his arms. My own eyes glared back at me. ‘What can you do?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, rummaging for the corkscrew. ‘Not now, that is.’ I paused and pointed the corkscrew at him. ‘But tomorrow, I shall wait until the entire Security Section is watching and then I shall put my arms around you, give you a huge wet kiss, and call you Mummy’s Special Little Soldier.’
‘Oh, I say,’ said Peterson, shocked. ‘Cruel and unusual punishment, Max.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, folding my own arms and glaring back at Matthew with his own eyes.
He stumped off to his room, muttering.
‘Glad you’re not my mother,’ said Peterson.
‘Please, that’s not an image I want to carry with me. Open the wine.’
I don’t know what Miss Lingoss and Professor Rapson had been doing to him that day, but ten minutes later Matthew was out like a light. He lay on his back, mouth slightly open, with a plastic T-rex clutched tightly in one hand, Miss Dottle’s teddy in the other, and the Time Map whirling around his head. I shut it down and quietly closed his bedroom door so Peterson and I could talk in peace.
I poured the wine. ‘Do you want some?’
‘I don’t know why you bother to ask.’
When I handed him his glass, he was stuffing a small piece of paper back in his pocket.
‘What was that?’
‘Oh – just something I found in my pocket.’
‘So – what can I do for you?’
He didn’t speak immediately, swirling his wine around in the glass.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Nothing … Well, yes … but … There’s something I want to talk to you about.’
He looked so serious that a sudden fear ran through me. ‘You’re not ill, are you?’
‘No. Oh no. Nothing like that. Don’t panic.’
‘Well, what then?’
‘I have something to say. To ask you, actually, and I’m worried it will lose me the best friend anyone could ever have.’
‘If you mean me, dummy, I’m not going anywhere.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure. You haven’t heard what I have to say yet.’
‘Am I in trouble?’
‘Astonishingly, no. But I think I might be.’
‘In what way? Are you sure you’re not ill?’
‘Quite sure. But I’m not fine.’ He put down his wine, twisted around to face me and took both my hands.
‘The thing is, Max … you and I are not the sort of people who … I’m not good at this … but OK … Here it is … I think I … I mean, I haven’t said anything because … Well, I was worried it might be too soon … or that you might not … I mean … and then I said those stupid things … and I hope you know how sorry I am … but I was thinking that perhaps … Well, you know…’
He trailed to a halt, let go of my hands and took a gulp of his wine.
‘I find it quite disturbing that I actually understood every word of that.’
‘Well, thank God for that because I don’t think I could do it again. So what do you think?’
Good question. What did I think?
‘Well, I think … I mean … it would be … Unless you thought…’
I stopped and took a gulp of my own wine.
There was a bit of a silence while the pair of us reassembled our capacity for coherent speech.
He said quietly, ‘Max, I’m going to ask you a question. Please tell me the truth. Don’t lie to me.’
I could feel my heart thumping with alarm. ‘I never would. You know that.’
‘How lonely are you?’